


The Night Stanley Kubrick Nearly Killed My Schoolyard Bully

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Pearly's Preklok Fics [23]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: A lot of homophobia!!!, Bullying, Divine Space Kubrick, Dreams, Eating Disorders, Everyone in his town is terrible, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Movie References, Preklok, Slurs, Underage Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-06 01:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12201270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: A real life horrorshow.





	The Night Stanley Kubrick Nearly Killed My Schoolyard Bully

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/clockworkorange/terms.html
> 
> You're gonna need this.

Stanley Kubrick's well-received and intelligent film, _A Clockwork Orange_ , preceded William's birth by many years. The book it was based on, written by Anthony Burgess, was even further back. Normally in his boring, stupid house, he'd never get anything fun or interesting. But around Christmas every year, William finally got to see his estranged sibling-cousins, and more notably, the two tolerable adults in his family. Uncle Angus and Aunt Rosalie would come visit. Or rather, grandma would ship him off to his uncle's house during winter break.

Ros turned him onto real music. The only things grandma liked were shitty Christian country music. Ros was all about punk, rock, heavy metal, goth. They'd sit in her car together, driving out of the house here and there with Siouxsie blaring from her CD player. Angus was, possibly, an even bigger influence on him. According to grandma, dad used to complain about getting fucked-up goresploitation pornos from him every holiday and birthday. She also said that his first words were spoken over Ruggero Deodato's  _Cannibal Holocaust_. "It's beautiful". Every holiday he'd get a new movie, at least until he moved out. He seemed to get everything on DVD. 

 _Pink Flamingos_ was his first present. He played it so obsessively, he even began renting other Divine movies. He dressed as Divine for Halloween at age 9, and promptly got throttled by his grandmother for "going out in drag like a fairy". He also inherited his father's gifted copy of  _Cannibal Holocaust_ , a film that felt entirely unreal. Where on earth did bad people get their comeuppance? Instead of being raised by parents, he was raised by  _I Spit on Your Grave_ , and  _Mondo Magic_ , and  _Salo_ , and of course,  _A Clockwork Orange_.

It was strange the way main character Alexander deLarge inspired him, even for a short while. He'd get all excited, because  _if someone has enough energy to do bad things, maybe I can have that same kind of energy devoted to good things_. He also just thought the aesthetics of the film were cool, thought Alex was the coolest-looking guy, thought the story was really smart, and Stanley Kubrick was a genius. It wasn't his favorite movie, and he wasn't sure what was, but it held a place in his heart as all of his other favorite films.

A full three months before Halloween, now at age 14, he worked hard on a costume to pay tribute to that beautiful work of art. He stole twenty-dollar bills from grandma's wallet and shuffled through thrift shops in search of clothes he could dismantle. He bought art supplies and makeup products and hid them all under his bed. It was his pet project. He worked hard on it every day. As September approached, he'd gotten far into the habit of drinking  _moloko plus_. (Which was milk, according to the normals and losers.) He'd watched those two hours worth of film that he could probably memorize the script word-for-word. If he wasn't so  _dumb_ he'd probably read the book too.

In his locker was an invitation to Latoya Freedman and Bethany Wallace's Halloween bash, and since Frankie would be around, as well as a few other people he liked, he figured he'd go. His costume was ready and he'd look better than everyone else, for sure. The hardest part was the fake lashes.

Fast forward to late in the evening on October 31st, he stood at the Freedman family's door, clutching his cane, looking spiffy in his bowler hat and suspenders. Beth answered the door, and she was a kitty cat. (A really slutty fucking cat, for the record.) She waved.

"Hey Will! Get your ass in here, this shit's  _off the hook._ "

"...Alrighty." He shuffled in behind her. The house wasn't super packed, but just enough to make William anxious. Frankie waved over to him, just wearing a leather jacket and pants with his curly, blonde mohawk slicked back.

"Hullo, Willy! C'mere!" William shuffled over. "Are you the guy from  _A Clockwork Orange_?"

"Yeah, you scheen it?"

"No, but I wanna." He grinned. "We should watch it at your place sometime. Make it one of our movie nights."

"Yeah!" William was smiling too, he was so nice. "What're you sch'posched t' be?"

"Oh, uh, I didn't have any time to think about it, so I just dressed as a greaser." He shrugged. "Even bought a candy cigarette."

"Ya look schpiffy."

"Thanks!" Frankie's face lit up. It made William's stony heart warm. "This party's kinda lame. I think they're bringing out booze soon."

"Ya shouldn't touch that stuff."

Frankie lightly punched his shoulder.

"You do it all the time, you bastard."

"I can't help it! I like doin' illegal schtuff!" 

"I found the liquor cabinet!" A shout was distant. It was definitely Latoya's voice, and a bit of clicking. The heavy clunk of a metal padlock filled the little suburban house. The kitchen, full of sweaty high schoolers in stupid costumes, was practically entering the next plane of existence. They grabbed bottles and plastic cups, leaving them all across every table there was. Jamie Harper had taken custody of a bottle of Jack, and was wheeling away like some kind of alcoholic horse-drawn carriage.

"There we go."

Looking from one side to the other and finding the coast mostly clear, William pressed a chaste kiss to Frankie's lips. Though it wasn't even a second, it felt like an eternity. "Lemme go get usch schomethin'. What do ya want?"

"I don't care. It all tastes like shit."

William cocked a smile, and Frankie sent him one back. He practically danced over to the designated liquor table, fiddling with the brim of his bowler hat in his hand. He tried to reach past mega-hulk meathead Devin Jones, but was promptly trapped between him and Summer Waylon, who was hardly any less muscular. He squirmed a bit, shoving through the stupid flesh wall to grab a couple beers. Devin, who did not take kindly to "the li'l ones" getting in his way, promptly slammed William's face into the table.

"Don't fuckin' push me, lardass."

"Pissch off, pisschfasche."

"I'll smash this fuckin' bottle over your head."

"Dickhead fuckweed asschhole." He snagged two six-packs, squeezing out from the quite literal manmade prison and running off before Devin could really give it to him. He sat down next to Frankie, kicking his feet up onto the armrest and clinking their bottles together.

"Cheersch, brother."

"Cheers."

They latched hands, and stowed away in the master bedroom.

-

Four bottles later, and William was starting to feel  _it_ coming on. That fuzzy feeling. That sort of weak, shaky, piss-your-pants-and-vomit kind of feeling. His head was laid back in Frankie's lap while everyone was back downstairs. His little hat tipped slightly over his eyes. 

"Y'look adorable."

Frankie was buzzed too. And, had they been just a little bit more buzzed, they would have fucked right there. But a kiss was fine with him. One, or two, or eighteen. 

"You're warm, Frank."

"Aw. You're so cute!"

"Glad I came." He grinned, wiping a bit of the sweat off of his forehead. "Would'a been boring, being at home all on  _me oddy-knocky._ "

His laugh was beautiful. It sounded like nine-thousand angels descending from the stairs of heaven. Like sunshine and soft rainstorms, it made him want to go back in time and knock the razor from his own hands. "Would love tah schpat wif you, bruvvah."

"Jesus, Willy, you're ridiculous!" Frankie was laughing so hard that his face was turning red. "I'm gonna squirt beer outta my nose!"

"...Pissch."

" _Willy_ _!_ " Frankie gently punched his arm. "You're the fuckin' best."

"Righty-right I sure am."

**_"Hey Frankie!"_ **

Oh Jesus. The cursed voice rose up the stairwell, sending chills into William's skull. He clutched his cane with shaky hands. Even if he was drunk, he'd recognize that voice from miles upon miles away. He sat up, only next to Frankie, so it'd look like they were just  _two dudes being bros._ Wouldn't want to give Maxie the idea that they were kissing, or worse,  _banging._

"Shit," Frankie whispered, stealing a book from a nearby desk and opening it to a random page. The door slammed open, Maxie's somewhat lumbering, quarterback body rounding the corner. "Oh, hey, bro."

"Frankie, you--" Maxie locked eyes with William and scowled. " _You tryin' to get my brother drunk, fag?_ "

"I had no intention of doing scho." William was holding his cane so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

"Get the fuck away from him." Maxie grabbed Frankie by the arm, forcing him onto his tipsy, shaking feet. "He  _is_ drunk! You were gonna assault my brother, you fucking pervert!"

"No." He didn't really have much else to say on the matter. "We're juscht hangin' out, two guysch--"

"Two guys my ass. You're not his  _friend_ , you just get your rocks off staring at dudes." Like an overprotective parent, he turned Frankie away, gently pushing him out the door. "Go downstairs, I'll deal with this asswipe."

Frankie said nothing and staggered away. Maxie cracked his knuckles, grabbing William by his collar, the collar that he worked over three months on. "How many times do I have to fuckin' tell you, Murderface." His breath was hot and it smelled and William couldn't work up the willpower to crawl away. "I don't want no  _queers_ near my family."

"I ain't a queer."

"Do you think I'm an idiot? Try and say that shit one more time, I'll leave your fucking brains on this bed. You took him to  _bed_ for fuck's sakes."

"I'm schorry."

Now he was cracking his neck. William braced for impact.

"You better be."

-

The bruises would last a couple weeks, probably. The bloodstains, though, those would never come out of his outfit. His labor of love. The thing he put more time into than his homework or his future or anything like that. He sat in the upstairs bathroom, with the door locked. His vision was blurred. One eye bruised shut, the other halfway there. The alcohol served to numb the pain, at the very least.

He wished he hadn't left the house. He should've just stayed home, this Halloween night, watching horror flicks on his own, on his  _oddy-knocky._ He thought that parading around dressed as Alexander deLarge would make him feel better, would make him feel more confident. He thought that wearing the clothes of a powerful man made him strong. But he was completely wrong, he wasn't worth a damn thing in this stupid outfit.

His one fake eyelash fluttered, still latched tightly onto his bruised eyelid. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. There was loud music playing downstairs and everyone was having a good time. 

_Goddamnit._

He laid down in the bathroom and shut his eyes for a moment. That moment turned into a long, long time.

_He found himself floating through space._

_This was a dream, clearly, but it felt just normal. Walking in space like this with his little hands at his side, still fully dressed and well-bruised like a summer peach. If this wasn't a dream, it'd be even better, because that'd mean he was dead, finally._

_As he floated through the space-time continuum, wrapped in the quantum fabrics that were the stuff of life itself, he felt as though there was another person in the room. (Room? Space room? Area? Fuck if he knew. Maybe there were walls eventually, like a Quadraturin-esque scenario.) He turned, laying eyes upon a brilliantly lit figure in a suit. He air-swam over to the divine figure, squinting just to see who it was._

_"...Schtanley Kubrick?"_

_"Yes. It is I." His voice was way deeper than William would've expected. Maybe it was Jesus taking the form of Stanley Kubrick, or something. But who gave a shit? He was in space, talking to Stanley Kubrick like some kind of cool movie-directing astronaut. He got down on his knee, with his hand out. "What is troubling you, child?"_

_"Everythin' schucksch. I got beat up an' my boyf--" He paused. "my bescht friend prolly hatesch me."_

_Stanley patted his back, with those big, strong hands that directed_ The Shining _, and a pure, deep laugh, unfettered by strife or worry._

_"Now now, Alexander," He pulled William's hat off for a moment, scruffing his hair. "I think you know how to take care of that."_

_"Huhwha?"_

_"You'll never feel better if you just sit here. Go make krovvy spill, my dear boy. You may be pyahnitsa, but go make that prestoopnick wish he'd paid appy-polly loggies."_

_"...Gotcha."_

_And thus, Mr. Kubrick rose into the sky, disappearing into the ether, with one last word of advice:_

_"Heeeeeeere's Johnnyyyyyyyy!"_

He awoke in a puddle of his own puke. It was still loud downstairs. He'd only been out for an hour.

He grabbed his cane and wiped his nose.

-

The stairs were loud under his feet. There was power in his step. Everyone was gathered together around the couch, with drinks and laughs aplenty. When his bloodied face entered their line of sight, all went silent.

"...Will, what the hell happened to you?" Bethany stared.

"Yeah, you fall up the stairs, dipfuck?" Genevieve laughed at her own joke. Nobody else did, because nobody liked Genevieve, and her witch costume was all too fitting.

"An ol' malchick up 'ere got to tolchock me real 'ard in me gulliver."

"...Did you get brain damage?" Gillian curled her lip. William stepped forward, much too close, pressing the tip of his cane into her chin. But he didn't strike. They simply locked eyes, and he felt like a badass.

"Where'sch ol' Maxschie Boy? Goin' to razchrezch hisch yarblesch real good." 

"...He's in the bathroom."

Like clockwork, (ha ha ha) the bathroom door slid open. William turned heel, his legs in a wide stance with his cane between his feet. Then he bent his knees, raising the cane up over his shoulder. Alexander deLarge became Babe Ruth, and he swung like he was the pinch hitter on the team. A loud 'crack' resounded through the air, his palms sweating. And Maxie, the Goliath to his David, the titan whom he had been broken by so many times, fell to the ground like a burlap sack full of weights.

The room went silent.

"'ey there, bratty! I'm gonna vred ya 'till krovvy schpewsch outta your glazzchiesch!"

One two, one two, and through, and through. He hopped on the larger boy's back and grabbed his hair, elbowing his stupid face. It felt good to finally,  _finally_ break this fucking prick into a million krillion pieces. His fingers knotted tight and he was kicking his little dress shoes all over the place.

For a long time, people watched in silence.

"...Place your bets." Jamie grinned, popping a bottle of beer open. 

"Jamie!" Latoya scowled at him. But within seconds, the boys were shoving dollar bills in his direction. William felt like a nadsat  _Muhammad Ali_. He kicked and bit and fought against the fallen lump. "Will, quit it, he's passed out cold!"

"...Passched out?"

"Yeah." Genevieve rolled her eyes. "You seriously think you could beat him one-on-one if he was awake?"

He looked down for a moment.

Yeah, Maxie was out cold. He whined for a moment... but then got an idea.

He ran off for a second, snagging a pen from a cup on the dining table, which was still perfectly in place despite Macy Walsh being unconscious on it. Chewing the pen cap off, he grabbed Maxie's face, and began to write.

_**I LOVE BIG DICKS** _

Perfect.

"Who'sch the queer now, gloopy?" He laughed, reaching his hand into Maxie's pocket and emptying his wallet. "Whole lotta cutter in here!" Ten dollars. He stood up and grabbed a six-pack of beer from the table. The whole room was silent.

"...Will?" Bethany quirked a brow.

"Scheeya later!"

He ran out the door, for once leaving Maxie's side with a smile on his face.


End file.
